


Banana Pancakes

by keycchan



Category: Ocean's 8 (2018), Ocean's Eleven Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Banter, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Post-Canon, Sickfic, lou can't cook, rusty's suit deserves to be run over, sick debbie becomes a whiny 5 yr old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 08:15:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18028100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keycchan/pseuds/keycchan
Summary: Debbie's sick. Lou makes pancakes. Rusty doesn't help.





	Banana Pancakes

“Lou, I’m _dying_.”

A cough. A sniffle. Lou rolls her eyes, and whips the batter.

“You’re not dying,” Lou states matter-of-factly, “You’re just terrible at being sick.”

“Nobody’s _good_ at being sick. That’s ridiculous.” Debbie groans from behind her. A sneeze follows after, and then another groan. “You should be mourning me. Because I’m dying.”

Lou laughs to herself, shaking her head as she continues to whip up the pancake batter. There’s more snuffling behind her, fabric shifting — no doubt Debbie’s making herself comfortable at the kitchen table, balled up in a human cocoon made up of kleenex and the thickest blanket available in the house. When Debbie sneezes hard enough to scrape her chair back, the laughter’s echoed beside her, rough and gravelly and all too amused.

“Stop laughing, Rusty, you’re no help.” Debbie complains from the table, and the laughter only grows.

“Are all Oceans this whiny when they’re sick?” Lou asks, tapping the spoon against the side of the bowl.

The man beside her only keeps on grinning, arms folded in the atrocious thing he calls a suit. Shakes his head amusedly, eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely. Should see Danny when he catches a cold. You’d think a man in his sixties wouldn’t whine about taking his socks on and off, and you’d be wrong.” Rusty replies, full of mirth.

Lou chuckles as she grabs the frying pan. “And where _is_ the older Ocean sibling anyway?”

“Still ‘dead’,” Rusty says, airquotes loud and clear in his voice, “You know how it is.”

“Dead my ass,” Debbie grumbles, “He’s off being a walking corpse in Switzerland just because he messed up with the mob, all while he leaves his baby sister here to _actually_ die. He’d better bring martinis to my grave or I’ll kill him myself.”

Rusty laughs long and loud at that,  infectious, and Lou catches it too as she gets to turning up the frying pan. The pancake batter looks decent — still chunky in some places, but, you know. Edible. When she turns around while the pan heats up, she finds Debbie has officially become a human marshmallow. Eyes red and runny, nose equally so, brown hair in the messiest ponytail known to man, and wrapped up so much in blanket that Lou can’t even see the chair anymore. If the house caught fire they’d have to roll Debbie out the door.

Debbie looks up at her, those soft browns positively miserable. Lou’s heart clenches, just a little bit. Both because Debbie seems genuinely unhappy about her cold predicament, and also because she looks positively _adorable_ this way despite the fact she’s a grown ass fifty year old woman.

Not that Lou will tell her that just yet. Debbie already knows just how much she has Lou wrapped around her finger. The woman doesn’t need more ammo.

“God, I’m starving. If you wanted to kill me faster you could just roll me out onto the road.” Debbie pipes up again. It’s not fair how much her whining makes Lou’s chest beat so affectionate.

“They’re _coming_ , waiting five minutes won’t kill you.” Lou points out, pouring the batter onto the pan. “And neither will this cold, mind you.”

“You don’t know that.” Debbie fires back.

“You managed to pull off one of the biggest jewellery heists in history with only seven women and a grudge, fresh out of prison. If you could make it through that, you’ll make it through this.” Lou replies. “Also, you went through this exact same thing last year, and you survived.”

“Barely.” Debbie huffs.

Rusty throws Lou a look. Lou catches it and shakes her head. Rusty chuckles.

“Well, from the look of things, it should be done soon.” Rusty says, peering over to Lou’s stove as the pancakes start turning brown and she starts flipping them. “Lou’s legendary banana pancakes are well worth the wait, if what the Ocean clan says is true.”

Debbie manages to sneeze and cough in the same breath. “Ugh. It would be better if they came faster.”

Lou rolls her eyes. This has to be the tenth time in the last five minutes. If she goes blind she’ll milk Debbie for all she’s got. “ _You_ were the one who asked me to make you something. I _offered_ to go out and buy something for you, and you said no.”

“It’s raining, you’ll get sick too if you go out. And you’re my girlfriend. I want my girlfriend to make me something when I’m sick.” Debbie _sulks_ , and. Well. Okay. That’s fair. If it makes something in Lou beat fierce with the softest affection she didn’t know possible, Debbie doesn’t need to know that.

(Girlfriends, though. It sounds so juvenile, _girlfriends_. They’re both well past their forties for fuck’s sake – the term shouldn’t make Lou as happy as it does.)

“Well, unfortunately for you, I only know how to make one thing, and that thing you’ll have to wait for.” Lou says primly, tossing the pancake onto the plate. It’s a little bit burnt, but that’s fine.

“I know. Everything else you make is inedible.” Debbie concedes, a little too easily. “I still don’t know how you managed to set soup on fire.”

“It _wasn’t_ on _fire_ , I burnt it!”

“Y’know, that does _not_ help your case.” Rusty points out. He only holds his hands up in mock surrender and grins when Lou flashes him a glare.

“Then you don’t get any,” she says, pointing the spatula at Rusty and maybe flicking a bit of the batter on his hideous excuse for a suit, ignoring his cries of protest. If anything, he deserves it for wearing the thing. If a man is closer to sixty than fifty and is still wearing a suit that looks better used on cheap motel walls, then he deserves to have pancake batter thrown at it. And preferably set on fire. “I know I’m not the best cook, alright? It’s why I do takeout. You can’t mess up takeout.”

Silence.

“… Well, I mean —“ Debbie starts.

“— There was that—“ Rusty continues.

“—If either of you bring up the Greek place incident, I _will_ burn this place down. Pancakes included.” Lou growls pointedly, tossing the last pancake onto the plate and turning off the stove.

“We all make mistakes,” Debbie says sagely, “Some are just bigger than others.”

Lou has half a mind to eat the plate of pancakes right in front of Debbie. Every single bite. Make it really, really loud just to make her feel sorry. _That’ll_ show her. But then Debbie lets out a truly impressive sneeze, and consequently a nose blow that could put french horns out of business, and Lou gives in, grabbing a fork and syrup from the fridge to put on the table in front of her. The things she does for this woman, Lou swears.

It’s all worth it by the way Debbie’s eyes light up at the sight of it, though. They light up the same way they do when they talk heists, or robbery, or each other. Eyes alight and so _happy_. So full of life. Lou smiles before she can even think about it, something in her chest melting gooey and soft.

And then Rusty ruins it by snatching the top pancake.

“Oh, fuck, ow, ow! Hot, hot, hot,” Rusty yelps, playing hot potato with his pancake before finally taking a bite, “Fuck, ow — oh, that’s really good, Lou.”

“We have _forks_ , Rusty.” Lou points out, “Like civilized people.”

Rusty nods through a mouthful of banana pancake. “Yeah, but I got a flight to catch, and you know you shouldn’t carry forks when you drive, y’might trip.” He says, muffled through the mouthful of banana goodness as he makes his way to the door. Lou’s starting to see where Debbie gets it from.

“Work?” Debbie asks.

“Nah. Gonna go see dead people in the Engadin Valley.” Rusty winks, picking up his suitcase in one hand and holding his half eaten pancake in the other. “Maybe go skiing with them. Definitely take advantage of the romantic cabin view and the nice, big bed —“

“Get _out_ , Rusty!” Debbie hollers, throwing a piece of pancake as his back disappear behind the door and his laugh disappears with him, fading out until they hear the front door shut and the car pulling out of the driveway.

Typical Rusty. Typical _Lou_. Dumb blondes taking care of their dumber brunettes.

“You’re really making me reconsider making those for you if all you do is throw them at irritating men.” Lou points out, sitting at the table beside Debbie. “That’s how we get ants.”

“Things can have two uses, Lou.” Debbie points out by way of explanation, before just. Thrusting the fork at Lou.

Lou blinks. “No thanks, I’m not hungry.”

Debbie rolls her eyes. There’s gunk at the corners that she’ll almost definitely wipe on that fresh, clean blanket. “No. Me.”

“… You want me to feed you?”

Debbie stares at her in the deadest look possible. It’s a new achievement.

“You do know you’re a grown woman, right?” Lou sighs, even as she’s already taking the fork from Debbie and cutting the pancakes up into little pieces. “We own a house together. A car. You pay _taxes_.”

“And so I’m exercising my right as a grown woman to get my girlfriend to feed me when I’m sick.” Debbie declares.

“I don’t think that’s legally accurate.” Lou replies, but she’s already holding up the forkful of syrupy pancake to Debbie’s mouth.

Debbie doesn’t answer, because Debbie’s already got her gorgeous mouth around the mouthful of pancake and chewing. The woman actually _moans_ , and, yeah, alright, that’s doing _wonders_ for Lou’s ego, and absolutely terrible things to her heart. Lou can’t help but laugh when Debbie continues to make noises — louder and louder, obviously trying to make Lou smile. It’s a plan that’s clearly working. (Though, with Debbie Ocean, most of her plans have the infuriating ability to almost always work.)

“God, that’s so good.” Debbie groans in pleasure when she finally swallows her bite. There’s syrup at the corner of her mouth. It shouldn’t be as endearing as it is. “Thank you, Lou.”

Lou scoffs even as her cheeks go warm. “I know, jailbird. Now eat the rest before it goes cold.”

And then Debbie surprises her — and really, they’ve been together for decades now and when has she ever _stopped_ surprising Lou? — by putting a hand on Lou’s arm, squeezing it. Looks Lou in the eyes in the way she only ever really _does_ to Lou, with something soft, something vulnerable and genuine. Sincerity from a thief is a rare commodity — with Debbie it’s more valuable than gold, and Lou swallows without thinking.

“I mean it,” Debbie says, voice going soft in the way she rarely ever goes, eyes even softer somehow, “Thank you. For everything. For being here with me, every step of the way. Even when I’m stupid, or a mess, or —“

“— acting like a five year old catching her first cough?” Lou offers, smiling uncontrollably.

Debbie smiles back, the laugh lines at the edges of her eyes crinkling something _beautiful_ , “Yes, even when I’m that.” And then she takes the fork out of Lou’s hand, turns her palm upwards. Lays her cheek in Lou’s open, warm palm, in a way that makes Lou’s heart skip a beat and her blood thrum with enough affection to nearly kill her. A display of rare vulnerability, only ever shown when it’s just the two of them, the message as clear as anything they’ve ever said between each other. A code unspoken and only decipherable between them two.

_I trust you._

_Thank you._

_Stay with me_.

“You know I love you, Lou.” Debbie murmurs, tone so gentle it hurts as Lou’s thumb brushes her cheek. Eyes the warmest things Lou’s ever seen. “You know that, right?”

And Lou, well. Nothing short of divine intervention, God themselves smiting her where she’s sitting could stop her from leaning forward, tilting Debbie’s head up, and kissing her right at her temple, damp sweat and messy hair against her mouth as she tries to communicate all the tenderness she feels fit to bursting with in one move. It works, if the way Debbie seems to almost melt against her says anything. Lou presses a few more in for good measure, then — and then one more right on Debbie’s forehead, making it loud and wet just to make Debbie laugh.

“I know. I love you too.” Lou says, letting all her affection leak into her tone before she steals the fork back with a smile. “Now eat your pancakes, jailbird. If you start complaining that they’re cold I’m going to ship you to Switzerland.”

**Author's Note:**

> had the idea, wrote this out in one go. first fic for oceans, been meaning to write something for them for a long time haha, glad this one sprouted and bloomed all on its own.
> 
> comments and kudos welcomed and loved ! and quite possibly more encouraging than puppies.


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